


Butterscotch Pie

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 14:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: A dress. A date. A friend with benefits- if by 'benefits' you mean 'has the sense to push Jack and Gibbs together'. Slibbs.





	Butterscotch Pie

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the process of a longer Slibbs AU but needed to take a breather. So here's the breather. :p I love the idea of Jack having a friend outside of work who avoids the jealous trope and just wants her to be happy. I am fully aware this needs another chapter! But for now, here's what I have to give. The Stephen Strange bit is for my wife. :p

“_¡Halaaaa!_” Nick whistled, and 3 sets of eyes (one more covertly than the other two) followed his gaze.

She was one of those women who could pull off just about any look, but there was something to be said about a simple black dress. Especially one that wrapped around her so intimately. The shoulder straps were wide so that the fabric came around the back to cover her scars, but there was still enough skin everywhere else to draw the eye. Until she smiled, a grin that was impossible to resist.

“Yeah, what he said,” Ellie agreed.

She came down the stairs, her calves flexing in her black heels, her hand, bereft of anything beyond a simple silver bracelet, brushing along the bannister, earrings catching the office light just right. Gibbs clenched his jaw and pretended the collection of words on his computer was the most interesting thing in the world.

Jack beamed under the praise. “Stop it, you guys.”

Tim nodded his approval. ‘Hot date, Jack?”

“I don’t know if I would call it ‘hot’, but yes, a date. A very good friend of mine is in town and we’re going to The Dabney.”

Bishop sighed. “I love their butterscotch pie.” 

“I’ve never been,” Jack said, “but I’ve heard good things. He told me to choose, so I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Gibbs glanced up from his monitor but chose to remain silent. Fortunately, Nick spoke for him.

“Disappoint? In that dress? C’mon.” He winked at her blush. “So, a little wine, a little dinner, a little something something?”

"Really, Nick," Jack protested. "He's just a good friend." 

Torres shrugged. "All I'm saying is, sometimes good friends give the best benefits."

Bishop shot a peek at Gibbs, whose jaw appeared to be wired shut. Attempting to divert the topic, she asked, "What's his name?"

"Tom Avery. He's a surgeon in San Francisco." Hearing the information come out of her mouth, she glared at Tim. "Do _not_ do a background check."

McGee feigned innocence. "I don't know what you mean."

She wagged a finger at him. "Right."

"So if we can't do a check on this guy, can we at least see what he looks like? Just in case, you know, I need to know." 

Nick's protectiveness was charming in a way that made Jack smile. Swiping a finger across her phone screen, she held it out for him and the other two agents crowded around.

"Holy crap," Ellie blurted, forgetting she was trying to downplay the situation in front of Gibbs. "He looks like an underwear model."

Tim squinted at the photo. "He's fully clothed."

"Yeah, but I'm imagining him in his underwear." Bishop said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"And on that note, I'm out or I'm going to be late." Jack self-consciously smoothed out the front of her dress. "I look okay?"

"Oh, you look more than 'okay'," Nick assured, and both Tim and Ellie murmured their agreement. 

Jack looked at Gibbs, knowing that seeking an acknowledgment was in vain. But she held hope. She nearly choked on her surprise when it paid off.

He stopped fighting the urge to look at her and offered a soft nod. "You look nice, Jack." Then his attention went back to his work.

Her head snapped around to the trio who simultaneously mouthed, 'Wow.' She left them with a shocked expression as she made her way to the elevator.

With Jack gone, the bullpen settled down again and Torres looked at his watch. "Just about time for us to go, too."

"Got that report typed up?" Gibbs asked.

"Right here." He held it up. 

"Then get goin'."

He grabbed his jacket and did a little dance to Gibbs' desk, ignoring the scowl. "Goodbye desk, hello weekend."

"Hold the elevator," Tim said. "I just emailed you that file you wanted, Boss."

"Go."

Tim looked at Bishop who shook her head. "I'm going to be a minute. Don't wait for me."

"Okay. You guys have a great weekend."

"You too, McGee."

Left alone, Gibbs turned to the remaining agent. "Somethin' on your mind, Bishop?"

"Nope. Just waiting for something to print out."

He frowned, wondering what it was. Given the report and file from Nick and Tim, he knew there was no paperwork left from their last case. He watched her tap her foot at the printer, both waiting for the outcome. 

It came 60 seconds later.

Casually placing a 3 pieces of paper in front of him, she said, "I'd shred that when you're done if I were you."

He saw the name on the first page and tilted his head, finding it hard to fight the smirk. 

"She told Tim not to do a background check," Bishop said. "She didn't say anything about me doing one."

The fight was lost. "Get goin'."

Knowing his reaction was tantamount to getting a trophy, she grinned. "See you Monday."

He began scanning the check before the elevator door had even closed.

…..

"... only to find out Gibbs had the keys the entire time!"

Her date's laugh was warm and genuine. "That's amazing."

"I know, right?" Jack reached for her wine.

"_He_ sounds amazing."

"He is," she agreed.

If she had looked closer, she would've seen a devious twinkle in her friend's eye. 

"Maybe I should've asked him out to dinner."

The glass paused at her lips. "What do you mean?"

Tom leaned forward, casually drawing her attention closer. "I mean, I've learned more about what he's been doing in the last 2 years than what you’ve been up to."

She rolled her eyes, disguising a sudden blush by taking a sip. The ruse did not go unnoticed. 

"Really, Jack? He's building a boat in his basement." Tom took a moment to shake his head at the idea. "He's a former Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines. He's been with NCIS for over 20 years. He bought you tequila for your birthday and you gave him a bottle of Kentucky's finest for Christmas. Now that I think about it, I know everything about the guy except his first name."

"Please. I don't know what you're talking ab-” The entire evening flashed before her eyes. “Oh my God." The glass was placed very carefully onto the table. "Oh my God," she repeated, more to herself than to Tom. "I am so sorry." _That_ was directed to him.

Tom leaned back and chuckled. "I've never seen you so flustered," he said, revelling in the small victory.

She recovered enough of her confidence to retort, "Shut up."

His chuckle grew into a full laugh. He looked at her- really looked at her- and she squirmed under his scrutiny. 

"You know what else I've never seen? You in love. It suits you."

The blush went right to the tips of her ears. "I'm not-"

"How long have we known each other, Sloanie?" 

She narrowed her eyes at the nickname he knew she hated. "Ten years and you still haven't learned to not call me that."

"Oh, I've learned." He shrugged. "I just choose to ignore your wishes."

"Asshole."

"Don't change the subject."

"Which was?"

"You. Gibbs. Love."

"Oh God. Why do you have to put it that way?"

"What way?"

She looked away and sighed. "Like it's the simplest thing in the world."

It took him a minute to understand. “Ah. You haven’t told him.”

Defeated, she confessed, “He doesn’t know.”

“Those are two very different things.” When she lifted her eyes from her wine, he said, “Sloanie, there’s no way this man doesn’t know. First, as I’ve learned _ad nauseum_ tonight, he’s very intelligent.” He winked at her annoyance. “But more importantly, a blind man could see that smile when you talk about him. So the real question is, why haven’t you told him?”

“Sure. I’ll just walk into the bullpen Monday, say ‘Good morning’, and ‘Oh, by the way, I love you’.” If it was possible, the blush got hotter. She had never heard herself say the words out loud.

He saw the discovery written all over her face. “First time you’ve realized it, huh?” Having some sympathy, he reached over and squeezed her hand. “Maybe he’s just waiting for you to make the first move. Guy’s been married 4 times; I’d be a bit gun shy about instigating a new relationship, too.”

“Oh my God, I told you _that_, too?” She rubbed her forehead with an unsteady hand and gave a shaky laugh. “It’s ‘Jethro’, by the way. His first name. It’s ‘Jethro’.”

“I see why everyone calls him ‘Gibbs’.”

“Stop.” The admonishment was softened by her smile. Her eyes returned to her glass. “Can we please talk about something else?”

He gave her hand one final squeeze of support. “I’ve been wondering that all night. Gibbs this, Gibbs that.”

She slapped his hand away, warmed by his friendship, thankful for his humour. Still, she found it important to note, “You’re such an ass.” Emptying her glass, she pushed out her chair and said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room, and when I come back, you’re buying me the butterscotch pie and the rest of that bottle.”

He half-stood in recognition of her leaving the table. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her absence and a forgotten phone set a plan into motion.

…..

His hand reached out to grab his phone from the coffee table. Another night where he had fallen asleep on the couch after dinner with the paper strewn across his chest and his glasses still on his face. He used them to look at the name on the tiny phone screen.

“Jack,” he said.

“Short and to the point. Good, we don’t have much time.”

Surprised by the voice that wasn’t hers, he demanded, “Who the hell is-”

“Tom Avery. You don’t know me. I’m-”

“Jack’s friend from San Francisco.”

“Why do I suddenly feel you know so much more? Nevermind,” he said before Gibbs could explain his chuckle. “Here’s how the rest of the evening is going to play out- I’m about to get a call. I’m going to tell her it’s work and then I’m going to leave. She’s going to be heartbroken.” His tone was facetious. “If you’re the man she’s been telling me about all goddamn night, you’re going to show up in the next 15 minutes. In a tie, or they won’t let you in. Got it?”

Gibbs sat up, tossed his glasses onto the table and ran a hand over his face as if not quite believing the conversation. “Wouldn’t mind some background info.”

“Don’t have the time and you already know anyway. They’ve got the Macallan Reserve here. I’ve heard you like good whiskey, among the _many_ other things I’ve heard about you. Have a glass on me.”

The line went dead and Gibbs stared at his phone before slowly clicking it shut. The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than usual, a metronome that dared him to make a decision.

…..

“So,” she began as she came back to the table, “we’re not going to mention his name for the rest of the night.”

“Whose name?”

“Very funny.”

Tom grinned. “Ordered your dessert for you. And the wine.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You stopped on the side of the road to change my tire, if we’re asking literally.” 

The memory made her smile. “I can’t believe you didn’t know how to change a flat.”

He snorted. “Who said anything about not knowing? You see these hands?” He held them up. “I would’ve waited 10 hours for triple A to show up before I let these hands change a tire.”

“Okay, Stephen Strange.”

Before he could reply, he frowned and put his hand over his pocket. “I told them to not call me,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry.”

A worried line formed between her eyes. “If they’re calling you, it must be important. Take it.”

“It’ll only take a minute, I promise,” he said, standing and reaching for the phone. “I’ll be right back.”

It took slightly longer than that- 3 minutes by his watch- before he saw a man who had to be Gibbs walk through the door. Tom laughed at the realization that out of everything he knew about the man, he had no idea what he looked like. But the broad-shouldered, no-nonsense demeanour gave him away. That, and the military cut. Tom quickly took out his phone and began typing.

She missed Gibbs entrance, her phone buzzing at the exact time he entered. Puzzled at seeing Tom’s name on the screen, she swiped it to open the text.

_First, you need a lock on your phone. Second, don’t be mad. I've already taken care of the bill. We’ll talk tomorrow. If you’re still talking to me. I love you, Sloanie. Now look up_.

Confused but intrigued, she did as the text directed… and looked right into blue eyes she knew all too well.

“Gibbs?”

He followed her eyes as they gave him a once over, and he brought his hand up to his collar. “Was told I had to wear a tie or they wouldn’t let me into the place.”

The suit was, well, it was a simple black suit that he somehow made look dashing. The white dress shirt and silver blue tie didn’t hurt, either. 

“I- who told you?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she chastised herself for the needless question. “Nevermind. I know. What else did he tell you? Besides needing a tie, I mean.”

Gibbs waited for her silent approval before he pulled out the chair and took a seat. At that moment, the waiter came with Jack’s dessert and wine. “He told me they serve the Macallan Reserve.” He looked to the waiter for affirmation, thankful for the distraction from the black dress that had teased his imagination since 5 o’clock that afternoon.

“Yes, sir. May I get you a glass?”

“You may.”

"Anything else? Dessert, perhaps?"

Gibbs peeked over to her side of the table. "Nah. She'll share with me."

The waiter nodded. "Very good. I'll bring an extra fork."

She tried to regain some control of the situation through humour. "That's awfully presumptuous of you."

He looked down at his suit and flattened his tie. "You mean I got dressed up for nothing?"

"Mmm," she said, offering her murmured approval. "I suppose that suit deserves to be rewarded." The slight pink that tipped his ears did wonders for putting her at ease, and after a moment of reflection, she admitted, ‘I’ve been a horrible date.”

Gibbs stretched out his arm to look at his watch. “It’s been 6 minutes. Wouldn’t be too hard on yourself just yet.”

She covered her face with her hands and laughed. The waiter returned with the whiskey and the fork, and slipped away as quietly as he arrived. The first thing Gibbs did was take an appreciative sniff of the whiskey, then downed a good mouthful. His eyebrows went up in pleasure. He then reached forward and cut his fork through the point of the pie, and gave another nod as the flavour hit his tongue.

“Bishop was right- this is good pie.”

Jack’s fork stopped midway to the dessert as a thought occurred to her. “She did a background check on Tom, didn’t she?”

Pleased that Jack would correctly make the connection, he grinned. “Yep. In her defense, you didn’t tell her not to.”

“Right. I told Tim not to. Should’ve seen that one coming. She adores you.” Jack hummed when she took her own bite of dessert. 

Casually, like he was talking about the weather, he scooped up another mouthful and asked, “How about you, Jack?”

He had a way of clouding her mind when he asked her a question in _that_ tone, his blue eyes catching everything. But even under the spell of his gaze, she knew where the question was leading. Still, she tried to deflect. 

“Oh, I think she _likes_ me. Not sure she_ adores_ me.”

“Jack.”

“What do you want me to say, Gibbs?”

The question was laced with defeat and he watched as she put the fork down and leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms in a move so defensive that even he recognized it.

“Jack.” He waited for her to meet his eyes, and the time it took her to find the courage to do so gave him the time to take her all in. When brown eyes met blue, he said, “I was wrong when I said you looked nice.” She arched an eyebrow, surprised and curious at the shift in conversation. “You look… great.” 

The word didn’t seem adequate enough for him, because the compliment was followed by a frown. The word was more than enough for her, because his eyes said it all. The reminder that he had given her the compliment less than 3 hours ago and was now sitting across from her, in a suit and tie, with _that_ look, set off a chain reaction of implications. Daringly, she reached across and took a sip of his whiskey, slowly and appreciatively, watching his eyes as his attention flitting from her eyes to her mouth to her throat. In a simple moment, silent but charged, the uncertainty that was knotted up between them was pulled free. She knew it from the way his clear blue eyes went stormy grey, but she had to ask.

“What are we doing here, Gibbs?”

He, too, knew something had shifted; he wasn’t a stupid man. He could see it in the way her breath hitched under his hooded scrutiny, the way her eyes went to his mouth. He tilted his head from side to side. “Havin’ pie. Drinkin’ $500 whiskey.” He punctuated his short list by taking another drink. Perhaps it gave him the courage to say, “Then I’m takin’ you home.” The gravel in his voice gave no mistake as to which ‘home’ he was referring to.

The word sent heat right to her belly. She took the glass, downed the drink, then stood. "Tom took care of the bill. Unless you really want to finish that dessert."

The laugh that threatened to escape when it saw her almost comedic haste died in his throat when he saw her eyes and the determination in her stride as she walked away. Tossing two 50s on the table for the tip, he almost beat her to the door.

…..

-end


End file.
